


Hypnagogic

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-23
Updated: 2010-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were just dreams until Rodney walked through the stargate to Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypnagogic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [2010 SGA Reverse Bang](http://sgareversebang.dreamwidth.org/), [Image #9 'Perchance to Dream'](http://toasty.fanizzle.org/Misc/SGA%20Reverse%20Bang/2010/PerchanceToDream.jpg) by davincis_girl.

**hyp•na•gog•ic also hyp•no•gog•ic** _ (hĭp'nə-gŏj'ĭk, -gō'jĭk) _ adj.

1\. Inducing sleep; soporific.  
2\. Of, relating to, or occurring in the state of intermediate consciousness preceding sleep: hypnagogic hallucinations.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

 

Back in his musty-smelling apartment after too many months away, Rodney drops his suitcase at the door and carries his laptop case to his desk. Still too wired from latest disaster narrowly averted and the trip home from Colorado, he pulls out his laptop to check his email and manages to dump everything else he'd stuffed into the case across the desk and onto the floor. With a disgusted sound, he shuffles the scattered papers together in no particular order and stacks them on the desk, stopping in surprise when moving a dog-eared journal reveals an unexpected object.

"Hunh. Must have grabbed that by accident," Rodney mutters to himself as he picks up the pale blue crystal ball and weighs it in his palm. "Guess it's a good thing no one asked what it was when they scanned my bag."

It feels good in his hand, smooth and cool, and he'd always found its colored swirls soothing in the grey, grim lab he'd recently left behind. Holding it up, he rolls the ball until the symbols floating in the center are clear, six mysterious glimmers that Rodney will have a chance to solve after Daniel Jackson's translation programs are once again available to him at Area 51. Examining the piece for any scratches or chips that it might have suffered in transit, he does suffer a belated pang of conscience. Certain people might consider his acquisition of the artifact as stealing from the Russians, even though it was entirely accidental.

His realization that if he brought the piece's existence to anyone's attention, it might rebound negatively on the person who'd originally allowed him to examine the piece without authorization, quickly banishes Rodney's qualms about keeping the crystal ball in his apartment. It is an easy decision to make, especially since the thing looks like a pretty blown-glass paperweight. Nothing about it screams 'caution - alien artifact' and, in addition, Rodney is convinced that his tests at the lab proved it was merely decorative and posed no danger to anyone on Earth.

He decides that he will hide it in plain sight and, if asked, he will simply claim it is a souvenir he'd picked up somewhere in his travels, and that he doesn't recall exactly when or where. He's certain it will be better for everyone concerned if it stays forgotten, especially considering how many different searches and scans he'd managed to pass through without anyone noticing he was carrying contraband from another world.

Most of all, his silence will protect one of the exceedingly rare bright spots during Rodney's assignment to the Russian naquadah generator program; Dr. Svetlana Markov, one of the very few scientists Rodney had ever worked with that he acknowledged his peer. While Dr. Markov had admired and used Major Samantha Carter's theories about wormhole physics when setting up the Russian stargate operations, she had agreed with Rodney that Major Carter's dialing program ignored too many of the 400 possible feedback signals that could be returned during a dialing sequence. Dr. Markov had also concurred with Rodney's opinion that ignoring the errors and overriding manually was too risky, when factoring in the potential destructive power inherent in a device constructed of naquadah, and that using a properly configured dialing device was the logical solution.

Of course, when Rodney had described the event he believed proved his point, he declined to mention his overstressed choice of several unfortunate descriptions during his interactions with Major Carter. In hindsight, while he'd considered most of his remarks no worse than he'd addressed to the idiots in Area 52, the 'dumb blonde' had stepped outside his own personal boundaries, and he'd offered an apology at the first opportunity.

In the end, the two doctors' agreement on the subject of the dialing protocols had been moot since Major Carter had destroyed the last functional DHD on Earth in the same incident that had precipitated Rodney's exile to Siberia. In addition, the Russians had mothballed their stargate, and effectively Dr. Markov, after an alien lifeform had killed all but one person in the experimental power station during a quasi-foothold situation.

After sharing a bottle or two of vodka, as well as their experiences in academia and military-industrial institutions, Svetlana and Rodney had made the best of their situation and had worked well together with the limited resources they'd been allocated. He had shared his more esoteric theories on power generation, and she had generously granted him access to the artifacts and equipment the Russians had collected on their limited number of trips through their stargate. They had also kept each other warm one night, neither of them looking for more than a few moments of mutual comfort.

Smiling at those memories, Rodney carries his shimmering prize into his bedroom and places it on his nightstand, directly in front of the silver frame holding the quantitative proof of his brilliance in astrophysics.

~/~

Although Dr. M. Rodney McKay, Ph.D. Ph.D. had stated on occasion he considered medicine as much a science as voodoo, sleep-deprived Rodney has never felt comfortable completely dismissing certain studies considered even more dubious by many. Dream interpretation, lucid dreaming, hypnagogic hallucinations, sleep paralysis; he's researched them all, at one time or another, as someone who had suffered from nightmares from an early age. Several of the psychologists he'd dealt with over the years had insisted that people waste their time trying to interpret dreams, that there are no hidden meanings. Others disagreed. Rodney preferred to believe that, with practice, he could gain at least a modicum of control over how he entered and remained sleep. He rarely doubted that he was dreaming but, when necessary, he knew how to check his reflection in a mirror for haziness, to watch a digital clock to observe whether it advanced in a logical progression, or employ the ridiculous method of leaning against a wall to see if he fell through.

It would be easy to point to his father as the culprit for Rodney's recurrent nightmares. Choosing _Moby Dick_ as a seven-year-old's bedtime story might have shown a decided lack of sensitivity on the elder McKay's part, but Rodney has to admit that, with an imagination such as his, whales were just the first to appear in his nightly horror parade. Through the succeeding years, he'd learned that his intelligence could be a drawback, in particular whenever it provided the full range of possible disasters lurking around each corner.

By the time Rodney was ten years old, he'd developed a few strategies help to keep the nightmares at bay, at least often enough for him to manage an adequate amount of sleep. No nightlight had been allowed in his room, because it would only deepen the shadows where dangers might lurk, but he'd discovered a ticking clock was useful for regulating breathing. Eyes open, he would catalog every shape and shadow in his dark room, flattening them in his vision until they gradually blended into nothing, leaving him a blank canvas. He would then begin painting a new scene with broad strokes, a place where he knew he would soar to the heights. Sweeping architecture in place, he would walk out onto the stage at Carnegie Hall and bow to a thundering ovation before taking his seat at a gleaming concert grand.

Somewhere along his journey into sleep, his eyes would close and he dreamt in intricate details, in crisp black and white; piano keys, notes on a score, a metronome ticking beside a clock, ivory candles reflecting on glossy ebony, the white silk rose in the lapel of his tux as he accepted his well-deserved accolades. His playing was never less than perfect throughout his solo performance, not a single note missed, always the proper tempo, and the music rose into the hushed air, clear and precise from his slim, nimble fingers.

Sometimes, he would rise after the dancing notes, chase them, laughing at their antics, catching them to feel their soft fizz and cool sharp edges along his skin. On the best mornings, Rodney would wake with those wonder-filled dreams still resonating vividly in his memory, convinced in both his heart and mind that his triumphant concert, if nothing else, would someday come true.

Unfortunately, when Rodney was twelve years old, his teacher bluntly had informed him that he possessed no sense of the music he was playing, would never be anything but a fine clinical performer at best, thereby convincing Rodney that he would be wasting his time taking any more piano lessons. Accepting his failure in the arts, Rodney had shifted his focus to science, where precision was required, not disdained. The attention he then garnered in grade six, by constructing a working model of a nuclear weapon, might not have been the accolades he'd expected, but it did little to nothing to suppress his ambition.

For a time, his original focal point lost, his organized dreams had transmuted to random images lacking any discernible order or reason that rarely lingered until waking. The nightmares had once again held sway, until he was able to replace his visualization of a musical score with a whiteboard filled with precisely ordered equations and complex circuit diagrams, and the location of his standing ovation changed venues to the Stockholm Concert Hall.

Although his new visualization proved effective, he'd still had quite a few nights where he dreamt he was the main course for a whale. He enjoyed the sensations whenever he was successful, and he found that the more tired he was when he made the attempt, the more likely it was that he'd slip into dreams with amazing colors and sounds, where he floated and flew and solved the problems his waking mind had stalled on. Although he never went as far as keeping a dream journal, Rodney usually kept a pad of paper and a pen near his bed to capture insights on awakening that might prove useful in his work.

~/~

When Rodney finally turns off the light and crawls into bed on his first night back from the SGC, he discovers that the alien artifact gives off a faint glow, the soothing swirls silver-blue against the dark of his room. It reminds him of the event horizon confined within a stargate, and his chest tightens at the thought that, despite his contributions to the program, he might never have the chance to walk through one.

Desperate to wind down his over-clocked brain, Rodney focuses on the crystal ball, allows his mind to roam the shimmering lines until he plunges through the surface of his personal event horizon on a rollercoaster through a tunnel of flashing neon colors, his breath catching at the speed. At the end of the ride, he's suddenly walking through a darkened room, following someone up a set of stairs with treads that light beneath their feet.

At the top of the stairway, they pause to overlook a stargate, where other men and women are still emerging from the glistening blue, carrying packs and boxes that they set aside before disappearing through scattered doorways. A sudden blaze of lights reveals stained glass windows and carved columns, high-arched ceilings, consoles and screens flashing unfamiliar script. Amidst the alien wonders, though he doesn't understand why the stranger feels so important to him, Rodney can finally see the smiling face of the man he's been following, and Rodney smiles back in his dream.

~/~

Rodney has read descriptions of wormhole travel, the vague impressions left behind in the blink between two points in space. He understands his dream transits are nothing like those, yet he make no effort to guide them toward something closer to reality, merely enjoys how his mind has chosen to manifest them. They're a pleasant whimsy after long days and nights spent immersed in hard science, an indulgence he's willing to allow himself. It does strikes him as oddly apropos when Daniel Jackson's translation program confirms his suspicion that the symbols in the crystal ball are Ancient and, in the gatebuilder's language, they stand for 'dream.'

Sometimes, exhaustion overtakes Rodney and he falls onto his bed and crashes into sleep. He prefers the nights when he stares into the cool blue glass until the wormhole forms and then steps through. On the other end, he explores the city that he dubbed Atlantis after it rose from the depths of the ocean it then floated upon. Each journey is different; the crazy-haired man with a magic touch and obnoxious laugh, the new friend who's always at Rodney's side, the only constant in the dreams. Rodney doesn't know how or why, but one day he wakes up knowing his friend's name is John. It somehow suits him, so Rodney accepts it and doesn't attempt to convince his mind otherwise. He and John play games after days spent under foreign suns, they argue and mock, threaten and apologize but, most importantly, they are always together.

Sometimes Rodney wakes regretful in advance, anticipating another day alone.

Although it's beautiful on the other side, Rodney's dreams insist it's not all fun and games in Atlantis. Rodney drowns more than once, struggling to save others trapped inside the sinking city. Once, he emerges on the other side traveling inside an odd vehicle, laughing and trading insults with John, until they meet his old nemesis face-to-snout in the depths of blue-green water, surrounded by mourning in tones too deep for human ears that resonated in his bones. There are human-shaped monsters and dangerous mists to battle, people who die screaming from an ancient disease, guns and explosions and impossible deadlines to meet.

Still, through all the dreams that take him through the blue event horizon, the important thing is there is someone he can depend on, and who depends on him, John, whose hazel eyes look at Rodney with something more than disdain or resentment. He is one of the rare exceptions, on an extremely short list of people who have been willing to allow Rodney to come close…and he's a figment of Rodney's imagination.

Some days, Rodney can't wait to go home and dream.

The rest of the time, he tries not to think about his best friend, the one that doesn't really exist.

~/~

When Rodney packed for his assignment to the Antarctic base, he'd reluctantly left the crystal ball behind. While he'd still felt confident that he could pass the piece off as a foreign keepsake as log as it remained in his apartment, exposing it to a group of people working with Ancient artifacts would have been asking for trouble. Resigned to the necessity, he'd dropped it inside an old sock that was missing its mate and tucked it all away in the back of a dresser drawer for safekeeping, hoping that he'd find another way to step through the stargate in his dreams.

His hope ends up being a forlorn one.

Days bleed into nights in the underground facility with everyone working to fit too much research into too little time. The clock of interstellar invasion is always ticking and every discovery they struggle toward might be the one that makes the difference between life and death for the human race scattered across the galaxy. As luck would have it, Rodney has ended up heading the research of Ancient technology in the location once known as Terra Atlantis, at the same time that he's no longer able to reach the Atlantis of his dreams. He sleeps when he can no longer keep going, and his dreams unwind unseen behind impenetrable walls of exhaustion.

The gene required by most of the Ancient technology contributes to the problem. All too often, Rodney's investigations grind to a halt while he attempts to enlist help from the gene carriers in the facility. Carson Beckett is one of the 'blessed' few, and Rodney is working with him the day his one of his dreams somehow becomes reality. After a narrow escape from immolation by an Ancient weapon, a helicopter pilot walks in and sits in a chair. Torn between jealousy and excitement on hearing how the easily the technology activated for the stranger, Rodney rushes into the alcove and directs him to think of where they are in the solar system.

The messy-haired, hazel-eyed man stares up in amazement at the stellar map.

Rodney stares in amazement at _John_.

~/~

Some hasty research had confirmed that Rodney hadn't somehow run across John Sheppard's face in the past and pasted it into his dreams. Sheppard's a non-entity as far as the internet's concerned; they went to different schools and chose different careers, the pilot had never been assigned to Area 51 or the SGC, their paths had no reason to cross and never did. Of course, all that had done nothing to explain why John Sheppard had ended up starring in Rodney's adventures in a city called Atlantis, a location that looked equally suspicious after Daniel had figured out its gate address.

Sheppard's immediate departure with General O'Neill had prevented Rodney from asking some very pointed questions in Antarctica, and then the rush to equip the expedition to the Pegasus galaxy had consumed nearly all of Rodney's attention while at the SGC. He'd almost managed to convince himself that it was simply an amazing coincidence or even a bad case of deja vu, until he'd walked through his first wormhole and followed Sheppard up stairs that lit beneath John's feet.

The city itself was amazing, matching the details in his dreams to a disturbing extent, yet not everything had turned out to be the same. The city had risen before Rodney could drown, which had been a relief, but others had not been as fortunate in their search for an alternate site and potential allies. Unfortunately, although Rodney had been able to recall the existence of John's 'puddlejumpers' in time to save some of those that had been culled by the Ancients' enemy, nothing in his dreams had hinted at Marshall Sumner's death and Sheppard's inadvertent early awakening of all the Wraith.

~/~

His scientist's mind still unwilling to subscribe to anything more than coincidence, Rodney stuffs his dreams into a dark closet in the back of his brain, and attempts to treat everything as a new discovery. A green and silver artifact he finds in one of the labs almost immediately tests his resolve. After a quick check against the Ancient database, he's in Carson's realm, eager to be the first guinea pig for Carson's gene therapy in order to test his theory. The moment he's able to confirm the Ancient shield works, he searches out Sheppard, unable to resist trying out something else that he's not willing to admit he remembers from a dream.

The shooting is a little scary, but watching Sheppard's…_John's_ eyes light up in glee makes Rodney's moments of uneasiness worth it. Being pushed off a balcony is unexpected, but Rodney can't help grinning as he singsongs "Invulnerable, invulnerable," and then laughing at John's "I shot him!" and Elizabeth's shocked expression.

An entirely too-short time later, it's one thing for Rodney to risk being shot in the leg when an entry in the Ancient database confirms he's found a shield. It's an entirely different proposition for him to stare into a being comprised of mist that could scald the flesh from his bones and believe in a dream that ended with him standing at the gate, a hero alive and unharmed behind his shield.

When Rodney's shaken awake a few minutes later, it's apparent there are a few vital differences from his dream, but he's willing to ignore his inability to stand and an inert shield when John smiles down at him and says, "Hey, buddy. You did it."

Rodney decides then and there that he'll accept the dreams as guidelines with an entire shaker of salt at hand. After accepting a hand up from John, Rodney allows him to escort him to the infirmary so that Carson can make sure Rodney's not suffering any aftereffects from his alien encounter. With a clean bill of health, they head for the mess hall, since Rodney missed a few meals while stuck behind the shield. Relieved that neither of them had gotten hurt this time around, Rodney's even willing to overlook John's teasing about his appetite.

His immediate hunger sated, Rodney leans forward and whispers across the table, "Since we've got a few hours off, I'm pretty sure I know where there's something else you might be interested in."

John raises one eyebrow and asks with a twisted grin, "Can I shoot it?"

Rodney shakes his head and stands, grabs his tray and carries it toward the cleanup area, calling back, "Come on then, follow me."

He's barely out the door when John catches up and nudges his shoulder with a grin. "You going to tell me, or what?"

"Or what." Rodney leads the way to a set of metal stairs two hallways over from the mess hall and they walk down five flights. Two lefts, a right, and then three lefts and they stop in front of a closed door. Before he enters the code that he remembers from a dream, he turns to John with a caveat. "I did say I _think_ something is here, but…."

John's not willing to listen to excuses and insists, "C'mon, McKay. Open it up. The suspense is killing me."

Code entered, the door slides open to reveal several consoles and one of the large transparent screens that the Ancients had used as displays. Although the equipment doesn't match exactly what Rodney recalls, and it's obvious that he's going to need to teach John Ancient in order to use the consoles, Rodney is certain he can make it all work. He heads for the nearest console and finds the button that turns it on. A topographical map displays on the screen with several boundaries clearly marked. Clearly intrigued, John walks over to watch over Rodney's shoulder as he sets the starting parameters and corresponding markers appear on the screen.

When Rodney finishes configuring the first console, he turns to John and asks with a smile, "So, are you interested in playing a game?"

John grins in delight. "Ancient Sims? Cool."

As Rodney begins to explain how it works, he can't help thinking, 'And no salt required.'

~/~

There are moments when Rodney truly regrets the loss of his crystal ball.

Other times, he's very glad he can never be exactly sure what comes next.

While recalling all his semi-precognitive dreams of water, of whales, of storms, and of John, Rodney can't decide if he's glad that none of them had hinted at the bloody reality of knives held by menacing fanatics. He's still not sure if he would have been able to hold out longer or given in sooner after the cutting started. All he'd had to work with while Kolya held Atlantis was the vague memory of John and rain that slanted over the water, a dark threat slashed by lightning.

Thankfully, expelling the Genii and the successful raising of the shield hadn't depended on clues from Rodney's visions, no more than any other of their misadventures in the Pegasus galaxy. John had come through with guns blazing and, with some timely help from Teyla, Ford, and Carson, had saved Rodney, and thus Atlantis, from a watery grave. Major John Sheppard, the constant in Rodney's past dreams remained Rodney's keystone in his current reality, necessary - even after he'd mocked and dismissed Rodney's injuries.

Wiped out, but too wired to sleep, Rodney stares at the soft blue light by his door, willing it to fade into a dreamscape. His ears still waterlogged, he barely hears a faint sound before a shadow passes by the light, grows as it approaches Rodney's bed, until he gasps and pulls back. No sleep paralysis freezes Rodney in place and, when he glances at his bedside clock, the digits are crystal clear, so Rodney concludes it is no dream at the same moment John whispers, "Rodney, you still awake?"

"Considering how fast my heart is currently beating, I doubt I'll be sleeping any time in the near future, Major," Rodney grumbles before sitting up in bed, grabbing the sheet to preserve his modesty, because he'd only managed clean boxers before falling into bed after his shower. "Is there a reason you're skulking about in my room instead of enjoying the sleep of the just?" He shifts a little toward the wall when John moves closer and then unexpectedly takes a seat on the edge of Rodney's mattress. He no longer carries the metallic tang of the rain-soaked gear, so Rodney assumes John's taken the time to shower and change, but that does nothing to explain his presence in Rodney's room. "Sheppard?"

The lights come on in the room, not too bright but enough that Rodney can see the exhaustion shadowing John's eyes and lining his face as he stares at Rodney. "I…I needed to make sure you're okay. Beckett told me about the stitches…and everything. God, Rodney. I'm sorry that I didn't…."

"Thank you for your belated concern, but I suppose you had more important things to worry about than…." Realizing he's about to ruin his chance to be the bigger man, Rodney cuts his bitter response short with a simpler, "I'll be okay, once I get some rest."

"Yeah, it's been a really crappy couple of days."

John's half-smile is fleeting, and his shoulders slump, his defeated posture reminding Rodney that he wasn't the only one injured and endangered in the Genii raid. Sympathy erases his lingering resentment and he asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_." John shrugs and then stiffens as if he's in pain, tries to smile again, and Rodney wonders whether John has a clue how badly he's failing the attempt. Before Rodney can mutter anything to that effect, John adds, "I just wish…."

Rodney waits for John to finish, but John simply tilts his head a bit, as if considering whether to continue his thought, and then presses his lips together and starts to get up instead. Unable to suppress his curiosity, as well as his concern, Rodney reaches out to stop him, asking quietly, "You wish what, John?"

"I…." John settles back down on the bed again, raises a trembling hand to Rodney's face, and leans in to press a soft kiss against the corner of Rodney's mouth. He pulls back until Rodney can see worry and something more in his eyes, and then Rodney understands that what John needs is what Rodney has wanted since he saw the man of his dreams sitting in an alien chair.

Ignoring the throbbing ache in one arm, Rodney raises his hands and cradles John's face in return, smiling as he says, "Me, too." Their second kiss is longer, but still soft and sweet and, when it ends, Rodney tentatively asks, "Stay?"

John doesn't say anything, just nods and kicks off his boots before standing to take off his BDUs, allowing them to drop to the floor, while Rodney moves over and throws back the covers for John to slide into bed. The chill of his skin against Rodney's isn't as unpleasant as Rodney anticipated. In fact, it's actually a surprisingly sensual contrast along with the slight rasp of John's hairy arms and legs, as Rodney ignores the throb of his arm to pull him closer and settles the covers back over them.

Stiff and unresponsive at first, John gradually relaxes as he warms, almost melting into the planes of Rodney's body, his head settling on Rodney's shoulder, a hand resting on the slight curve of Rodney's waist. He shifts his top leg restlessly until Rodney separates his to allow John's knee to slide between, and John sucks in a deep breath when that adjustment brings him in contact with the semi-hard proof of Rodney's interest.

Rodney freezes for a moment, afraid that he'd misinterpreted John's need, but then John's hips press in and Rodney can feel John quickly coming up to speed. A little more rearranging and John's in a better position for them to resume kissing, lips and tongues and even a hint of teeth raising the temperature between them a few more degrees. Rodney moans low in his throat when John moves his hand to touch Rodney through his boxers, but then Rodney can't help jerking back with a hiss when he tries to reciprocate and his stitched-up arm disagrees.

"Hey, just relax and let me…." John deftly slips his hand inside Rodney's fly and the graze of his callused palm is a perfect tease as he grasps Rodney and strokes a few times. He chuckles when Rodney squirms impatiently and pulls his hand back out in order to help Rodney shove his boxers down and off, following suit with his own along with his t-shirt. Back in place, he presses in closer, nipping at the edge of Rodney's jaw as they scrape and slide along each other, an exquisite abrasion.

Rodney balances on the edge, frustrated by the painkiller he'd taken that prevents his fall. It's apparent there's nothing holding John back; he bucks and shudders against Rodney after a few minutes, leaves what Rodney is certain will be yet another bruise at the corner of Rodney's jaw as he groans and bites down. Rodney's arm aches as he grips John's hip, the slick warmth between them still not enough, and he feels his arousal gradually slipping away as John stills, panting against him.

When John reaches down, Rodney murmurs, "Sorry, I'm sorry, the pain pills I took are…," but John's not willing to let it go so easily. He fumbles for his discarded t-shirt and swipes away most of the mess on both of them before sliding downward. The heat of John's mouth revives Rodney's interest, and he quickly proves his tongue is skillful enough to finally overcome Rodney's pharmaceutical pause. With a gasp of warning, Rodney tries to push John away, but he keeps his place and gentles Rodney as his muted release rolls through him.

After John inchworms his way up the bed and settles back against him, Rodney indulges himself and slides his fingers through John's thick hair, drowsily petting and whimsically wondering if John will purr under his hand. He decides it's close enough when John hums and scrubs his face against Rodney's shoulder, and Rodney smiles into the dark. A minute or two later, just as he's about to drift into sleep, Rodney yawns and confides sleepily, "You know, I used to dream about you."

Thinking John has fallen asleep and hasn't heard, Rodney's a little surprised when John shifts a little and replies, his voice a soft rasp, "Hope I wasn't a disappointment."

Rodney doesn't need more than a second or two to consider his answer. His crystal ball dreams had been beautiful, exciting, wondrous illusions that he'd craved at the end of his worst days, but he'd also been able to live without them. Ducking his chin to place a kiss against John's temple, Rodney whispers back, "I prefer the reality."

**Author's Note:**

> I've struggled with Rodney's scholastic timeline in more than one story. Canon never supplied an age for any of his school levels. In fact, he never mentions being advanced through grades or his age for his advanced degrees, despite his (canon-supported) claim to genius.
> 
> I chose the timeline I did in "Hypnagogic" because it fit into the progression of his dreams. The loss of the piano was the catalyst for the bomb and his career in science.
> 
> As a side note, I'm 53 and, when I was growing up in the dark ages, the children in my hometown were rarely advanced grades and gifted programs didn't exist. The same applied for my siblings who are now 40 and 43. Our schooling (Northeastern US) started on a half year (similar to colleges) and I ended up starting a little 'early', so I was eleven in grade six and graduated at seventeen, but the norm was eighteen. That had changed by the time my daughter entered school fifteen years later.


End file.
